


Never Look Away

by AceMoppet



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bard!Reader, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, Other, POV Second Person, Songfic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, honestly this was a completely self-indulgent gift for the friendo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29269821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceMoppet/pseuds/AceMoppet
Summary: Today is not your first performance, but it is the first time you sing a love song for her.
Relationships: Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg/Reader
Kudos: 8





	Never Look Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eloquent_Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eloquent_Dreams/gifts).



> This was originally posted over on my Tumblr as a gift for Hannah (@toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account); I'm finally bringing it over here!

_This is it._

You take a deep breath in the mirror, watching as your body swells with the breath. Your eyes dart over your face nervously, but your stage makeup is immaculate- it has to be on today of all days.

Today is not your first performance, but it is the first time you sing a love song for _her._

Yennefer of Vengerberg. _Gods_ , what a woman- you could travel to the ends of the Continent and back, and _still_ you would not find a person more magnificent. This truth, you know it in your bones.

As you go over the strings on your lute one last time, you can’t help but recall the day you first saw her.

You’d just arrived at the local market when you saw her haggling over a bunch of apples. You weren’t one to fall in love at first sight, not even for her, but you’d noticed how striking she was- she took up space like she was once a scar on the world, and though she was now its beauty, she’d never forgotten the anger she’d been born into.

You learned later how true that thought was.

Yennefer of Vengerberg is a woman-shaped storm, and you are the avid traveler whose only wish is to be blinded by her lightning and be deafened by her thunder.

...hm, maybe you should use those lines in the next song you write for her.

“Bard!” You snap back to reality, hands fumbling on your lute. Ahead of you, the stage manager stands in the doorway, an impatient look on his face. “You’re up next. Get to the stage!”

_Right._ You take another deep breath before slinging your lute on your shoulder. _It’s showtime._

* * *

You grin with a sort of feral glee as the crowd roars.

“Thank you!” you yell, loosely holding your fiddle now. “Truly, you’ve all been a fabulous audience- much better than any of the audiences I’ve come across!”

You’re not quite lying- you can see your lady love in the crowd right now, and her presence alone shoots this crowd to the top of your list, leaving aside the rather unhinged energy the crowd possesses right now as it cheers once again for you.

Sweat drips down your brow, and your arms ache from the combined efforts of playing the lute earlier in the night and playing the fiddle now. But even as your chest heaves from all the singing and dancing, you’ve still got breath and strength left in you for one more song- the most important one of them all.

_There it is,_ you think, watching two stagehands roll the pianoforte- a new, yet popular instrument- onto the stage. The crowd quiets down, murmuring at the sight of the new instrument. For a lot of them, it is their first time viewing a pianoforte- you vaguely wish it could be the first time for Yennefer too. Ah well, you’ll just have to be content with knowing that it is the first time she hears this song.

“Now this last song- Yes, this _last_ song,” you say, trying not to laugh at the crowd’s dismay. _Gods,_ but you really love this crowd. “This one is new, and hopefully the first of its kind.”

The crowd prickles with interest at that. You lean in and whisper theatrically, “Would you all like to know why?”

They shout their agreement, and you smile. “Well, you see, almost a year ago, I met the most amazing woman.”

The crowd titters at that- there’s even some light jeering from the back, but you choose to ignore it. “Yes, yes it’s a love song, which I know is cliche, but listen! She is truly the most amazing woman- made of nebulas, and novas, and the most mysterious of night skies. From the moment I met her, I knew I could never even hope to look away from her.” Saying this, you make eye contact with the woman who owns you- heart and mind and everything in between. She’s staring right at you with a rare look of wonder on her face, and you are bewitched once more by her warm, bright eyes.

“Though between you and me,” you say to the crowd, not once looking away from Yennefer, “I’d never want to.”

“Sing the song!”

With that, the floodgates are opened, and the crowd is cheering, in some cases even outright _heckling,_ for you to sing your song. Well, not yours, not really. It’s Yennefer’s if she so wants it.

(You hope she wants it).

You take a deep breath and place your fiddle down gently before sitting down at the pianoforte. Slowly, you press down on a couple of keys, just re-familiarizing yourself with the instrument. The notes you pull are bright and clear- they remind you of the purple in Yennefer’s eyes as she snarks at you in the evenings, of the way her smile curls in your heart, of the strength of her fingers when she pulls you in for a soft kiss.

...This is really not the best time to be this distracted.

Luckily, the crowd doesn’t seem to realize just where your mind had fled to in the last moment, but they’ve also hushed down. You play one last chord- it glitters in the air, floating like the smoke from your love’s potions before dissipating entirely.

Then you take a deep breath, and you play.

* * *

“Bard, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Send them in!” you tell the stage manager gaily, touching up the last of your makeup. After all, if you’re to meet fans, as you’re supposed to after a performance as big as this one, it only makes sense for you to look your best.

“So _that’s_ where my old lip stain went.”

You whirl around with wide eyes, and there, in the doorway, stands…

_“Yennefer,”_ you breathe, a smile, wild and loopy with wonder, stealing over your face. “You came!”

Then her words register, and you backtrack. “I- uh- sorry about that I just- thought I took mine and then there wasn’t time to come back and-”

She laughs, cutting off your rambling, before walking over towards you. “Peace, darling,” she says, cupping your face gently. “I didn’t say I minded.”

“I’m sorry,” you say again, placing a hand over the one she’s put on your cheek. “I still should have asked.”

She clicks her tongue dismissively. “No harm done,” she says, her thumb stroking gently at the corner of your lips.

“Besides,” she murmurs, leaning in with a dark, mischievous look in her eyes and a deliciously wicked curve to her smile, “I rather like the look of it on you.”

“Oh?” you manage to say, utterly distracted by the softness of her finger so very, very close to your lips. “Really?”

“Mm,” she says, leaning in ever closer. “Really.”

It’s no surprise then that she kisses you, languid and soft. She smells like she always does- lilac and gooseberries, but this close you can taste her favored apple juice on her breath, sweet and heady. She pulls you closer, her hand threading through your hair and stroking your ears in a way that never fails to make you melt, and you feel your hands come up to settle at her waist. Her dress is like velvet, the fabric soft and lush under your hands, but better yet is the warmth of her skin underneath the dress- it prickles at your fingertips like lightning and makes you want to _drown._

She pulls back then, and you whine, chasing her for one more taste of her lips. She laughs, gentle, teasing, and cups your face. “Needy thing,” she chides you, stroking your cheekbone with her thumb.

“Can you blame me?” you whisper, mouth dry and hoarse. “You are the world given flesh and blood, and somehow, you chose me. Can you really, _truly_ blame me for being needy?”

The flush on her cheeks would be difficult to see in any other circumstances, but here, a breath’s distance away from you with candlelight gilding her face, it’s a veritable sunrise. “I see that not even a kiss can stop your words. Tell me darling, are all bards as wordy as you?”

Your hands tighten on her waist, and slowly, you pull her onto your lap. “When their muse is this wonderful, what bard wouldn’t be?”

“Oh?” she teases, her blush deepening. It’s amazing how she still keeps composure. “I’m your muse?”

“Yes,” you say, kissing her cheek. “And I suspect you will only continue to be.”

She laughs again, soft like she can’t believe your words- that’s alright, you have the rest of your days to show her the devotion she truly deserves. “You flatter me.”

“I resent that!” you protest, bumping your foreheads together. “I speak only the truth when it comes to you!”

Her smile gains a wicked curve then. “Are you calling yourself a liar on all other fronts then?”

“Rude!” you crow, clucking your tongue. You dart up to kiss her face, once, twice, thrice. “Rude, rude, _rude!”_

“Peace!” she exclaims, even as she chuckles at your kisses. “Peace, darling!”

“Never!” you swear, pecking at her cheeks. “Not until you apologize!”

She laughs again but does not give in- you admire her stubbornness, but you are not one for giving in either. You double down on your attack- kissing every inch of skin in sight once, twice, thrice over.

Eventually, she catches your lips in a kiss and draws you in. You breathe into the kiss as if you’ll breathe for a thousand years, as if you’ll never breathe again. Her hands find their way up to your hair again, and the soft way she tucks some of it behind your ear makes your heart swell in warmth.

Eventually, you both have to pull back- much as you’d like to drown in her, you are both still human of sorts, and you are both still in the backstage of the hall you just gave a concert in.

All at once, fatigue hits you, and you yawn, slumping in her arms. She hums soothingly and tucks your errant hair away again.

“Tired, darling?” she murmurs, her lips resting close to your forehead. You nod, and she kisses your hair. The sweetness of it all makes you want to melt.

She hums again. “Alright,” she says, sliding off your lap. You whine, feeling the chill set in where she has left you. “Shush, darling,” she says, not unkindly, “and get your stuff. I’ll portal us home.”

You whine again, but this time it’s more for show. Yennefer cuts you a look, and though she looks amused, you know she means business. With a sigh, you get up, biting back a groan as blood rushes to your legs once more. “Ow.”

She tuts and just puts her hands out. “Any day now.”

“Yes yes,” you say good naturedly, shouldering your lute. It takes you a scant minute to put the rest of your things away and then you’re standing in beside Yennefer. “I’m ready.”

“Took you long enough,” she says, smirking, but she pulls up the portal. Through the whirling winds, you see the cottage you two call home.

_This is it,_ you think once more, taking Yennefer’s outstretched hand and letting her pull you through the portal. _This is my life._

And honestly, you couldn’t ask for a better one.


End file.
